Mercenary Princess (Mercenary Socialites Book 1) Read online

  Sophia shook off the memory. She’d been so enthralled by him in that long-ago moment that she could actually remember the scent of the fall leaves that had fluttered in the air. That had been the first and only real time she’d lusted after a boy, and he’d been anything but a boy then.

  That he was even more devastatingly tempting at thirty-two was proof that life wasn’t fair. His hair was longer, his features sexier with age. His eyes were only slightly less deadly than they had been eight years ago, yet the intensity banked there was like a raging wildfire roaring straight through her bloodstream.

  Sparing an assessing glance in her entourage’s direction, she confirmed that Tiffany and the other women were dancing, their attention on the light show and the crowd-pleasing enthusiasm rolling off Feliks as he hopped to the beat.

  With all attention currently off her, she raised her glass again and allowed her gaze to drift in Viktor’s direction. She held the glass suspended at her lips as their eyes connected. Even with the distance and his dimly lit seating area partially obscuring her view, she felt a shot of electricity slide over her skin, sending tingles of awareness coursing through her body. How was that kind of chemical attraction even possible? She’d lusted after him for years, but to be on the receiving end of his bold appraisal was something very different and far too enticing.

  It made her crave something she couldn’t have.

  Viktor was seductive in a way no man should be. He lounged in a chair, his long legs stretched before him, and all she could think about was climbing over those strong thighs and straddling him before ripping his shirt open and using his body. It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by men and women, to whom he paid no attention, or that armed, tattooed guards stood at the private stairs going to his section and beside his leather seat.

  She groaned mentally.

  Having him in her sphere was rapidly becoming a harsh lesson in frustration. The space between their VIP alcoves could have spanned an ocean, and they’d have been more likely to interact. There was enough firepower between his guards and her own to ensure their worlds could never collide.

  A “prim” princess of a small country and a ruthless Russian billionaire with a dark history—it was definitely not a match for the storybooks.

  Was he playing some kind of game? Seeing if he could unnerve her? Was that the reason for his sudden, blatant show of interest? Annoyance and a hint of disappointment trickled through her at the thought. She didn’t want her fantasies of him ruined by reality. It was time to end whatever this was.

  Steeling her spine, she spared a thought for her guards. Jen glanced over, but Sophia wasn’t worried about the female guard. The others were her brother’s pawns—men who would protect her while reporting every detail of her life to her family. After ensuring Antony and Marco were focused on the crowds, their backs to her, she stepped back a fraction to obscure her actions from those on the floors below. All permanent security surveillance had been dealt with so that no one could sell the feed to the paparazzi.

  Taking advantage of the moment, she turned her attention to the Russian, finding his eyes still on her. She tilted her head a fraction then lifted her glass in a slight, challenging toast. He only had the power to unnerve her if she gave it to him, and she couldn’t allow that to happen, so calling him out seemed the best move. She returned most of her attention to her guards and the women she’d invited, but not before she caught the barest nod from him before he lifted his tumbler to those firm, sexy lips. He hadn’t returned her toast, but she hadn’t expected him to.

  One of his men leaned down to speak to him, thankfully diverting his attention.

  Now she could focus. She had to.

  Jen cocked an inquisitive brow in her direction. With a miniscule shake of her head, Sophia indicated everything was fine.

  Tiffany spun around in excitement, jolting Sophia for a split second. The woman was saying something, though, honestly, Sophia couldn’t hear most of it. It had something to do with the show. She grinned and nodded. Relieved when that appeared to be the right response, Sophia forced her breathing to slow and her tense shoulders to relax.

  Her mask of amused composure set firmly back in place, she edged closer to the other girls as they danced in front of the iron railing overlooking the stage and suspended walkways linking the balconies. Flashes of camera phones flickered in the distance.

  After more dancing and another glass of champagne, she felt Viktor’s eyes again. Only this time, she was in the right headspace to prevent the attention from getting to her. It was too close to showtime for her to continue acting like a teenager.

  A few moments later, Jen cast her a pointed look. Only Jen knew Sophia’s real agenda for the night, and she relayed the silent message with practiced ease.

  Her prey had arrived.

  An instinctive calm settled over Sophia, and she welcomed the sensation.

  She turned in time to see Jean Luc Richelieu, France’s slick-dressed minister of foreign affairs. The way his interested gaze swept over her sent a familiar shiver up her spine. His presence was her reason for being in Paris, and she wanted him to approach, but staying in character was imperative. She and her friends had intel that he was meeting with France’s president very late that evening but was coming to the club first to meet a Belgian diplomat.

  Her guards allowed the minister to step into her space. He was on her mother’s approved list, as Jean Luc was from a very old family with a great deal of wealth beyond his political ties.

  She leaned toward him, accepting his kisses on her cheeks while stifling the instinct to recoil from his touch. His cool palms settled on her arms above the gloves her friend Riot had designed to match the delicate straps of her designer heels. The gloves looked to be made of thin straps that crisscrossed her arms, with sheer, nearly invisible fabric in between. They weren’t any more comfortable than her four-inch heels, mainly because the gloves had an added feature. They were lined with clear latex meant to keep fingerprints and any hint of DNA from transferring to the technology concealed on the inside of her index finger.

  “Your Royal Highness.” The dark glint of interest in Jean Luc’s icy gray eyes was unmistakable. She would be treading a dangerous line with him tonight. In the last two years, she’d artfully rebuffed several of his advances and seen his interest morph into something darker each time, a shadow of something sadistic hidden just beneath the political charm. “It is always a pleasure to have you in our fair city.” He was her height in heels, putting him at about five feet nine inches, with a lean bicycle-enthusiast’s frame and perfectly styled brown hair.

  He’d be attractive to anyone who didn’t know he was a snake in a fifty-thousand-dollar suit. At best, he was a murderer, protected by those even higher in power. At worst, he was a serial killer, protected by the elite for some unknown reason. She and her friends had spent months trying to uncover the full extent of his crimes and who exactly was protecting him, with very little success. His home had proven clean, aside from a hidden room containing a cache of illegally acquired artifacts. His staff turned over often enough that they didn’t know much about the man. And all that her people had discovered was the fact that at least two of his ex-employees had gone missing around the time they were let go from his staff.

  She pushed her dark thoughts aside to focus on the man before her. Flashing a royal smile, she responded, “I love it when my schedule brings me to Paris. I had no idea you would be here this evening.” Polite small talk was a skill honed from birth, but tonight she made sure her words were a fraction slower, her smile just a fraction brighter than usual, as if she were slightly inebriated.

  His gaze seemed to flash with something she couldn’t put a name to. Calculating… Yet he’d never made the top of her mark list. Until now.

  When his body angled closer to her, she held her breath, praying she wouldn’t have to withstand his touch again. This was where her “prim” persona came in handy. Most people maintained a respectable
demeanor when in her presence. That was the one situation in which having an ultraconservative brother worked to her advantage.

  Before he moved too close to her, her companions closed in around Jean Luc, vying for his attention. Sophia had to force back the desire to yank them away, but she needed to play her part. Which meant she appeared completely ignorant about his sadistic side. He’d been extremely cautious in his darker dealings over the years, to the extent that he actually had a near flawless reputation, as far as politicians went—a red flag if she’d ever seen one.

  To high-ranking society, Jean Luc was an attractive thirty-eight-year-old man with a prominent pedigree, wealth, and a political standing that afforded a great deal of influence and clout in their world. That her social friends were flocking around him made that point very clear, and she didn’t like that she was the one dragging them into his scope.

  People had a tendency to go missing around him. Sophia’s group had been monitoring the Frenchman’s dealings, so when one of his business associates went missing, her operatives had delved deeper. The missing man’s last actions were to sell Jean Luc a prime property that, by all accounts, the man hadn’t wanted to sell. A team had been sent to investigate. They’d found no mention of Jean Luc having even been questioned in any police reports, and the family had clammed up.

  The whole thing was far more blatant than any of the other disappearances they’d linked him to, which only added to her unease. Was he becoming more brash in his activities because he was sure of those protecting him?

  How many elite members of society were even shielding him, and why?

  To take a man like Jean Luc down, they would need as much information as they could get.

  All signs indicated that the Frenchman was being shielded by high-ranking officials, possibly all the way up to the president of France. His untouchable status wasn’t coming from family ties. He was the last of his line, considering his father and uncles were conveniently dead. But again, they’d yet to find any solid evidence that he’d had anything to do with those. Deaths due to heart attack and cancer were not ruled as suspicious.

  Even as he charmed the others, his eyes kept trailing back to Sophia with a dark kind of intensity that made bile rise in her throat. He’d always made her uncomfortable, just not this uncomfortable. It made her wonder if they’d made a big mistake all these years. Perhaps he should have been higher on their mark list.

  They needed to find out what exactly they were up against. Quickly.

  Precision was key to her current task, so she forced her body to relax. The next few moments seemed to move in slow motion. She signaled Jen to her side. The guard whispered in her ear before retreating out of the way. Sophia’s next movements were choreographed based on Jen’s instructions so that, when she turned, she stumbled directly against Jean Luc.

  With a practiced movement, Sophia trailed her gloved fingers inside his lapel, sliding the short pin of the nearly invisible piece of technology into the expensive material. Then she retreated, a wide-eyed look plastered on her face. She kept her other hand on her nearly empty glass, allowing it to splash haphazardly. In less than a second, Jen was there to help extricate her from Jean Luc’s almost biting hold.

  It took all her skills not to flinch at the look in Jean Luc’s eyes. It was icy and calculating for a fleeting second before it turned to something far scarier. Sophia’d seen lust before, but that look was some twisted perversion of lust that made her crave a bath. The other women didn’t seem to notice. Tiffany was smiling and taking Sophia’s glass. The gesture was kindly meant.

  Sophia smoothed the material of her black dress as if embarrassed. “I have to blame my clumsiness on your incredible champagne. I believe I have had my limit tonight.” She was grateful that her male guards had turned at the exchange and were widening the gap between her and the minister.

  “Everything is fine,” she informed the guards, smiling even as she fought back the anxiety tightening her chest. She would likely hear about her uncharacteristic overindulgence when she returned to the palace, but receiving a lecture about propriety was well worth having completed her task.

  No one else in her organization could have planted the bug as easily as she had. Jean Luc rarely allowed anyone close to his person, and his own guards saw that people kept their distance unless the minister initiated contact himself. The guards in question had been eyeing Tiffany and the other women and had stiffened to act the moment Sophia bumped into the minister, but they hadn’t stepped in. Royalty were allowed leeway others were not afforded, though she knew the Frenchman likely also allowed her touch because of his interest.

  She was relieved when Jean Luc’s attention diverted toward the stairs. With a glance in that direction, she noted a squat man with thinning black hair. The Belgian diplomat and a couple of men, likely security, ascended the stairs to their tier of balcony sections, and Sophia had never been more grateful for a distraction.

  When Jean Luc’s gaze slid back to her, his eyes heated, sending another tremor of unease through her. “Regretfully, I must leave.”

  Sophia managed to suppress a flinch when Jean Luc moved in to kiss her cheeks again, his hold on her arms more like steel bands this time.

  He barely moved back before practically purring, “Allow me to show you the true highlights of the city.” Extricating herself from his grasp seemed more urgent as the seconds ticked past. All she wanted was a breath of fresh air. The scent of his designer cologne would be linked with death and depravation from now on.

  She injected a note of prim propriety into her tone. “Another time, perhaps. I return to Porenza in the morning.”

  His gaze had cooled as he moved back from her cheek, though his charming smile was still in place. “Pity. Do inform my office the next time you visit.” He bowed politely before turning to the stairs.

  It wasn’t until he was safely past her guards that she released the breath she’d been holding. Tiffany and the other women were standing close as they watched him exit, likely calling dibs on the Frenchman. That thought was enough to make her shudder. She’d have to distance herself from him as much as possible, not only because his gaze and attitude had mutated dangerously, but because that was what she did in this part of any operation. The operatives did the real work. She and her friends provided marks, a bankroll, and access to locations, the best in covert technology, and planes for doing mercenary work no one else would touch.

  When Jean Luc was finally taken down, it would be best if her interactions with him had only been brief, chance encounters. Eight years of experience proved that removing a man with his kind of power could get very messy. In the end, everyone in Jean Luc’s world would be scrutinized by government agencies all over the world, not to mention the media and other watchdog groups.

  Her status and proper persona protected her. She was, after all, the “prim princess of Porenza.” Who would think she and her friends had anything to do with taking down powerful, elite members of society the authorities wouldn’t, or often couldn’t, touch?

  She only had a few scant moments for her tension to ease before another visitor, a designer at whom she smiled fondly, was already sashaying toward Antony. Sophia waited for him, her lips quirked in welcome, while surreptitiously tracking Jean Luc and his group as they headed into another private balcony section. His security closed the privacy curtains once the men were ensconced in their space.

  Sophia sucked in a deep breath and greeted her flamboyant designer acquaintance while she prepared to endure another hour in the club. The need to escape her guards and her gilded cage, for even a few hours, was more necessary than she would ever admit. Freedom in whatever form she could get it was becoming more important to her than air nowadays. It didn’t matter that she’d be working, hopefully uncovering some of Jean Luc’s secrets with her team, or that she’d be sleep deprived when she faced her mother the next day.

  Though she could think of a better reason to be sleep deprived. But the Russian w
as definitely off-limits, no matter how much he wanted to stare at her ass.

  She stifled the urge to squirm as she felt his eyes running all over her skin.

  With a fortifying breath, she focused on John Paul, her designer friend. He would require little conversation on her part, which was something to be grateful for since the hour ahead would likely test her in more ways than one.

  Chapter 2

  Paris, France

  Viktor stood at the window of his darkened suite, studying the barely perceptible form scaling the courtyard wall for the second night in a row. The little princess had been very fortunate his men had discovered her identity before capturing and interrogating her as a security threat, which they’d been ready to do when he’d spotted her scaling the walls the night before.

  After learning her identity, he’d found himself equally impressed by and angry at the little fool for risking her beautiful neck. A four-story drop from the luxury hotel could have ended in death. He’d been only slightly mollified after Ivan had found her safety cable dangling against the wall.

  He’d allowed her to keep her secrets the night before, instructing his men to follow her without her knowledge. After all, she was a princess, and he enjoyed knowing the secrets of powerful people. He’d been more than intrigued. She’d likely secreted off for an illicit affair with someone her family wouldn’t approve of or had taken a trip into the seedier parts of the city, where young, sheltered princesses weren’t supposed to venture.

  His instincts said there was more to her escape. Her actions seemed too planned and cautious to be simple rebellion.